Once upon a time, my good friend (Fii) and I were having a conversation about the women we’d loved and lost from Primary school till now. All guys have that conversation at one time or the other. It usually starts like this;
Me: Chaa you won’t believe who I met at Oye’s wedding reception last Saturday!
Me: Mandy, Mandy Appiah.
Then I delightfully watch the expression on his face morph into an unintelligible expression of feigned indifference.
Me: Chaa what was good, is a lot better now o. We even took a couple of pictures together. I’m telling you man, she is the one girl that if you had actually married, like hhmmn…
Me: Like when the reverend says “You may kiss the bride” I’ll forget myself and kiss her before realizing that I’m the best man.
Him laughing heartily: Are you serious?!
Me: You, you don’t know. like your wedding night I’ll drench myself in whisky, wail at the door of your honeymoon suite, haunted by all the karmasutric lessons you could be taking her through. I’ll knock on your door till you carry my drunken self in and get me in bed (which should spoil the mood I hope)
Me (laughing heartily): Chaa do you remember how many songs you wrote for her? You when you fall small p3 then vim comes to do love demos.
Him: O gellaway, as if Efua didn’t do the same thing to you.
Me: Don’t be silly, me and Efua were different. At least we went out for a bit, and I did get to kiss her. I didn’t have to stay up late imagining how it would have gone.
Him (throwing stuff at me): Ekraa a, you still lost her, and she too was something else.
Me (pensive): True talk o. she was the ish. My heart crawler.
Him: Chaa, no sweat. Abi Baaba and Nicole came along?
Me: You’re kidding right? Those girls were just the blurb of the book Efua was. But you kwraa, you’ve gone out like twice since Mandy, I’m surprised talking about her still gets to you.
Him: Same story mehn. She’s the book…
Then the talk goes onn and onn until a fine line is drawn between the two types of girls we’ve met in our lives; the Noodles girls and the Italian Spaghetti ones.
The noodles girls are a lot like the food itself. They boil very quickly and cook in no time. You can add any seasoning so they taste of the flavors you choose and you don’t waste time in the kitchen at all.
But the kick is, they hardly satisfy. You’ve got to keep opening one sachet after another after another to get full enough to wait for the next meal. Plus, it’s easy to get fed up with it. After a few meals, just the smell of it gets you nauseous. And that’s how some girls are.
They’re so easy to cook. Just ‘mistakenly’ send her a text meant for a certain Mr. Ansah saying “The payment you made was short of $2,000. Let’s arrange a pick-up tomorrow”. And she’ll start showing cleavage like a smile.
You update your status with stuff like ‘One in a million- could it be love at first sight? When a player meets his coach!” Stuff like that and she’ll see herself in it, thinking she’s converted a romantic heathen into a true believer. Smallest time, she’s giving you all of her; bra and hotspots included.
Her frequent calls and incessant nagging about you not having enough time for her drives you crazy until you meet her good friend who’s heard all about you; Bimbo. And the aluta continuaar.
And then there’re the Italian spaghetti girls. They spend as much time on fire as constipated cassava. You’ve got to keep checking on texture and pouring in water, because they absorb a lot of it. Heck, it’s like a full time job.
But when it cooks, it cooks good. On a table, you can serve it in so many ways that all your friends would find a favorite recipe in it. A mouthful alone keeps you satisfied so long you could deceive everyone that you were on diet.
The girls who are like that know it. They aren’t desperate and their oohs and aahs are saved for Christmas and Easter only. They’ve got game and they know it. They’re the ‘G’ in the game, without them it’s just ame.
When you meet your friends, you don’t have to justify why you’re with her, their admiration (at best) and envy (at worst) is tangible.
So now answer me this guys,
If you were me, and you were at a restaurant, and preliminary test results reveal that the items on the menu was basically noodles and Italian Spaghetti, which would you pick? Given you were sane and sober at the time.
That was a rhetoric by the way, the answer is plain plain. I guess this’ the point I say to the lady reading this; Get your Italian spaghetti swag on already!
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